Trash - Andy Mulligan [19]
‘Who were you with? Who saw you?’
‘Nobody, sir. I was—’
‘That’s a lie,’ said the policeman, and he came at me from the side. I don’t know where he hit me or what with, but I was knocked to the floor. My chair turned over and the side of my face was split. I fell badly, and my wrist was bent under me, and I saw him standing over me and I thought he was going to start kicking. I screamed, ‘No! No! No!’ over and over again, and tried to get under the table. The policeman didn’t kick me. He reached down, grabbed me, and he and the man in the suit lifted me up by the hair and an arm, and I was put back in the chair. Someone had me by the hair still.
‘I was with Gardo,’ I shouted. There was blood in my mouth. ‘Just my friend! But I didn’t give him money! He didn’t see me find it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I was with Gardo, and I found some money – I did not …’ I started to sob. ‘I did not find a bag!’
‘And the shoe?’ said the policeman behind me. He was the one holding my hair. ‘What about the shoe?’
‘I didn’t find a shoe, I was lying!’ I cried. I tried to wipe my face, but it was all blood and snot, and I was slapped again, hard, so that lights were flashing. ‘I found the money!’ I shouted. ‘I didn’t want to …’ I was panting for breath, and I started to sob. The policeman was leaning over me, one big hand on the table, one hand twisting my hair.
‘What was the money in?’ said the suit man. ‘Leave him alone.’
‘It was wrapped up in paper,’ I said. ‘I think it was a bill.’
‘Eleven hundred pesos, wrapped in a bill?’
‘It was an electricity bill, sir. I think. It was orange, and I think they’re the electrical bills.’ I was thinking so fast, just fighting for my life.
‘You can read, can you?’ said the man in the suit. ‘This piece of shit can read?’
‘Yes, sir, I can read!’
‘How’s that? Huh?’ He stood opposite me, leaned in and lifted my face. I could smell his cigarettes and his sweat. ‘Who taught trash like you to read? What’s your name?’
‘Raphael, sir—’
‘Who taught you to read?’
‘Gardo, and my auntie.’
‘What kind of bill? What address?’
‘I didn’t see, I didn’t look.’
‘How much money?’
‘Eleven hundred.’
‘Exactly eleven hundred? How many notes?’
‘One five, six ones.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘I gave them to my auntie. I kept one for myself.’
‘What about the bag?’
‘No bag, sir.’
‘I’m going to kill you, you liar!’ He lunged at me, and I was falling backwards, but the policeman lifted me and the suit man had my throat. I was up against the wall, and that is when I lost control and simply … all down my legs, I lost control – I was so frightened – and I was stinking, and I was shouting, ‘I didn’t find a bag, sir!’
‘Get him out – get rid of him!’
I was lifted up and they were carrying me to the window. The man in the suit was opening it, I was held by the policeman by my ankle and my arm, and I was going towards it sideways – it was coming at me, this big open window. I remember warm air. I remember suddenly I was out, and the hand holding my arm let go, and I was upside down, held by just one ankle – I could see the filthy wall: it was like a pit – and a long way down below me I could see a stone floor with what looked like trash cans. I was screaming so much now, and when I looked up they were all looking down at me.
‘Where’s the bag?’ shouted one of them. ‘Did you find it?’
All I could shout was no. Gardo has asked me – Rat too – did I come close to giving in? And the truth is, no, I did not. It sounds crazy, but there was a part of me sure I’d never found it, and some other part of me begging me not to give it up – maybe for José Angelico, because we knew more about him now. The hand on my ankle was tight, and I knew any second it could let me go and I would fall. I would fall on my head and be broken. The man was shaking me, and everything was spinning, and there was blood, sweat, my own mess, and the walls turning, but I would not say anything other than no, and they would believe me or it would just be over.
I was suddenly dragged up.